Untitled

Cobble-stoned streets and dark, grey smoke
I smell of old tobacco and longing
Parched lips refuse to budge or part
And I let them be; the blisters on my feet
Cling tight and weep big steaming tears
The ruthless sky above pours out
Liquid steel in furious streams
Every soul is lonely tonight, Can't you smell
Their pungent desperation and bleary eyes
Gypsies will not have me with them
I speak and smell of a foreigner
Hippies crouch together to sleep, I'm not them
Wild peregrine with nothing to give
Nothing to share, no tales to amuse anyone with
No mysteries to drape me, it's just the dirt
Of lifeless machines, ripping and roaring
Grinding hope to a fine, blue dust.